


Take Off Your Shirt

by LokianaWinchester



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Oblivious Napoleon, Prompt Fill, well not minor but the role it plays is minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: Prompt fill for "You need to take off your shirt" (three of the same prompt fills in one actually).





	Take Off Your Shirt

“You need to take off your shirt,” Napoleon panted, slipping out of his jacket, then his waistcoat. When he was halfway done unbuttoning his own crisp white dress shirt, he looked up.

“Why are you not taking off your shirt?” he asked.

Illya stared at him, as he had for the past 30 seconds; in complete confusion. Napoleon was supposed to be at a ball, dancing, wooing an extremely attractive and even more evil woman. He was definitely not supposed to be standing in the living room of their safe house undressing.

“What?” he finally replied.

“You really need to give me your shirt and jacket, and preferably that cap and maybe even your pants. But I don’t think mine would fit you.”

This did nothing to lessen Illya’s confusion. If anything, it made it increase.

“I was out following those two suspicious looking guys after the ball. Turns out they had somebody following me as well. I need a disguise. If they see me like this they’ll shoot on sight.”

“Why did you come here, Napoleon? Terrible spy that you are led them to safe house?” Illya ground out between clenched teeth, while taking off his shirt.

They exchanged their shirts while he waited for Napoleon to explain. Mentally, Illya went through the whole place, remembering the places he had his weapons in.

“I’d probably be dead,” Napoleon finally said. “If I’d gone anywhere else, I’d be in unknown territory. I’d be alone. I can’t take them on alone, Peril.”

Illya huffed. He was not going to show Napoleon how much he cared, how much terror he had felt at the words “I’d be dead”. He could not imagine that. Hoped he would never have to.

He also would never admit how hot he thought Napoleon looked. Illya bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself from these absolutely unwanted and unnecessary feelings. Napoleon shirtless was something he had learned to deal with months ago, but Napoleon in Illya’s own shirt was new. And so good. But that was not what Illya should focus on here. Hastily he forced himself into Napoleon’s slightly too small shirt, leaving the top two buttons open, then throwing on his waistcoat before going to the coat hanger and getting his usual coat as well as one of his jackets, which he tossed Napoleon’s way.

“How much time do we have?” he asked.

Napoleon stayed silent for a moment.

“I’d guess about two minutes,” he said before running off.

“Guess,” echoed Illya before going for the kitchen table to retrieve a pistol from a small installation in one corner under the table top. It was masterfully concealed by the white table cloth, but retrievable and usable within seconds. He got two more from underneath the sink and took two of the knives out of the set in the cupboard. They were throwing knives. Somebody had thought it funny to equip a special U.N.C.L.E. Safehouse with throwing knives in a set rather than useful knives to actually use in the kitchen.

After a few moments, Napoleon came back into the room, his own gun in hand as he stopped dangerously close to Illya.

Dangerous not because of the weapons, but because this close proximity was never good for Illya’s sanity and losing that usually did not end good for anybody.

“Are we leaving house?” Illya asked. The real question was if they had enough time to take the fight outside and Napoleon nodded.

When Napoleon pulled the door closed behind them, Illya made a run for the stack of firewood to the left, Napoleon went for the fir in the small yard.

Keeping his eyes on his partner, Illya still paid attention to his surroundings. He heard his own heartbeat, every muscle was ready to work at the slightest noise. When he heard footsteps approaching, he ducked further into the shadows.

Averting his gaze away from Napoleon, he saw three sharply dressed men turn the corner. Their steps slowed the closer they came to the house and of course Napoleon felt that this was the right opportunity to jump the tallest of the guys. The fight seemed fair until the other men started going at Napoleon and Illya had to take action. Shooting at somebody was out of the question, he might hit Napoleon, so he reached for one of his knives, driving it firmly in the side of one of Napoleon’s aggressors.

His scream went to Illya’s bones as the man clutched his side and reached for his gun in the holster at his hip with the other hand. Illya twisted his arm, before he could aim the gun at him, throwing the man to the floor, keeping him down, before reaching for the gun that lay beside him, shooting him.

The kick to the back of his head, he received at this, took him off guard; he could taste blood, blinked a few times to shake the disorientation.

As he looked over at Napoleon, who seemed to be doing well, well having the upper hand in his fight, the third man landed another kick in his ribs. Illya panted out and rolled away to avoid the next blow, but apparently he was not fast enough, because next thing he knew, a heavy boot stood on his chest as he looked down the barrel of a gun. Time seemed to be slowed down. He could not move, he could barely even think.

Illya had no idea how it had come to this, how this was the fight he was going to lose his life to.

But the second he heard the gunshot, before he closed his eyes, something came into his vision at the speed of lightning, knocking the guy over.

Then a sharp pain exploded in his chest and he gasped, before he felt himself sinking into the all-consuming blackness around him, a world of pain.

* * *

 

“Come on, Peril, gotta take off your shirt, please. Wake up. For god’s sake, your heart is beating and I wanna keep it that way, you gotta help me out here, you giant piece of muscle. I can’t move you.” Another slap against his cheek made Illya realise that this was what had pulled him from unconsciousness.

He tried to move through the pain, clenched his teeth.

“Good,” Napoleon breathed. He was too close, Illya frowned, but he was also right, they could not stay here in the yard forever, they needed to move. If only inside the house.

When he collapsed on the couch, Illya was ready to pass out again, but Napoleon would not stop pestering him. He felt the shirt being opened and dimly saw Napoleon’s face before him. A look of shock.

“Fuck.” Illya closed his eyes.

“Fuck,” Napoleon repeated. “Who the fuck poisons their bullets?”

“What?” was the last thing Illya said before the darkness once again took him over.

* * *

 

Waking up the next time was confusing. All of a sudden he was comfortable, the pain was gone. Was this the afterlife? When he opened his eyes a fraction, he discarded that idea, because Napoleon was there.

“Peril?” he asked .

“Illya?” A hand came up to Illya’s cheek and he felt oddly reminded of the last time he had woken up, only now the touch was not a slap, it was gentle and Illya’s heart gave a treacherous thump at it.

“Hello.” His voice was weaker than he expected, but the smile Napoleon gave him was so pure, so joyous no matter how weak he sounded.

Illya was feeling dizzy, only barely awake, but he was thirsty.

“Water?” Napoleon asked in that exact moment.

He nodded and a second later, Napoleon was holding his head up and a glass of water to his lips. After taking a few refreshing sips, Illya looked up at him thankfully. Napoleon put the glass on the night stand and settled back into his chair. In that moment, without thinking, halfway asleep and a hundred percent unaware of the impact this would have on him and Napoleon both, Illya murmured four little words, before sleep captured him again.

* * *

 

Waking up again, he was alone. He sat up, felt slightly more like himself. After a few minutes a nurse entered his room and told him about the bandaged wound. As Illya remembered, he had been shot with a poisoned bullet. Napoleon had saved him, tackling the guy the second he made a shot, then later notifying U.N.C.L.E. about Illya’s condition. Luckily the poison worked on getting its victims unconscious soon, but only turned lethal after several hours when the blue marks, spreading from the entrance point reached all over his body. That had given Napoleon enough time to get Illya to a secure hospital.

When Illya was finally released after what he thought to be far too long a time to keep him in the hospital, he saw Napoleon again far more frequently. Something was different and Illya noticed that Napoleon tried to hide it; as if he did not want anything to be different. He probably thought Illya would not notice, but Illya noticed everything when it came to Napoleon to a point where it was ridiculous. He even noticed that he changed his hair styling product, and not from how the hair looked, but from how it smelled ever so slightly different. So of course he noticed a difference in behaviour.

He let it slide for two weeks, but when Napoleon was clearly starting to avoid him, and especially starting to avoid talking about his stay at the hospital, Illya knew he needed to take action.

He cornered Napoleon after a briefing for their upcoming mission, held at Illya’s place. It had been just the two of them and Waverly, and since it was still a week until Illya was cleared for work, they had decided to hold the briefing there. Waverley had already left and just when Napoleon wanted to rush out of the apartment, Illya put himself between the other agent and the door.

“We can’t work like this, Napoleon,” he said, watching the other man closely.

“Like what?” It was not that Illya had expected any other answer, yet he was still disappointed.

“Like this, you avoid me. Why?” Napoleon’s expression instantly fell.

“It’s nothing,” he said, but Illya knew he had already given up.

“Is not nothing, what happened at hospital?”

“You really don’t remember?”

Illya did not answer. Napoleon breathed in slowly.

“You said that you love me. You said ‘I love you, Cowboy.’” Illya froze.

“What?”

“I thought so. Great, can we just never talk about it?”

“No, I - I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” Illya pressed out. His finger was tapping against the side of his leg and he knew that Napoleon knew it and was probably planning his escape.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up” Napoleon avoided Illya’s gaze, looking anywhere but at his face. Illya took a step to the side.

As soon as he was alone, he tried to calm down. Luckily, he did not destroy anything, but the agitation did not fade either. It was 2 AM before he could formulate another coherent thought. Napoleon knew.

* * *

 

When the met the next time, it was the evening before they went off on their next mission, Napoleon had asked Illya to come over. The Russian tried to be cool, tried to calm his nerves, but he was failing miserably.

“I want to be clear with you,” Napoleon said and Illya could already hear the rejection coming, he already felt the final heartbreak.

“I have feelings for you. Now before you freak out, I don’t plan on doing anything about it, don’t worry.” What?

“What? Why?” Illya’s mind was full of questions and completely blank at the same time.

“Well, you said you didn’t… what do you mean ‘why’? I just wanted you to know, nothing will change.”

Either Napoleon was being genuinely honest, or he was trying to play a trick on him, trying to get something from him and for some reason Illya doubted the latter. It was not Napoleon’s style at all.

He took a step forward.

“You should get eyes checked.” His words were met with a confused stare.

“You are blind, Cowboy. No way, you are this stupid.” The expression did not change.

“You think you are such smart American but no,” Napoleon shook his head. “Let me prove,” Illya concluded.

He leaned in to kiss Napoleon. Never would he have dreamed he would make the first move. It was not like him, and especially not with a man. Not with this. He was not sure there was anybody who had made a first move on Napoleon, instead of the other way round, but Illya understood why he did it now. There was a certain thrill to kissing somebody, waiting for their reaction, even though it was already clear how that would turn out. It was amazing feeling Napoleon figure himself out. The way his hands slowly, tentatively touched Illya’s arms, grip becoming stronger while his lips went soft, head tilting as if he realised in this moment what was really happening. The slight shift in weight to his toes, leaning into Illya’s space, with which he threw an arm around Illya’s neck, pulling him closer, while the other settled on his chest as if he was not sure whether to keep him close forever or push him away. Luckily for them, Illya knew what he wanted, so with a gentle hand on Napoleon’s hip, he pulled him close, while his other rested on the small of his back.

Having gotten over the initial shock about Illya’s bold move, it was all the more rewarding that Napoleon became just so responsive to his touches, a small moan escaping his lips. Illya could not hold back a smile, as his hands slowly pulled Napoleon’s shirt from his pants, fingertips ghosting over the warm skin beneath.

He did not have to wait for Napoleon’s response, who pushed forward, pressing himself against Illya enthusiastically.

When he broke the kiss, seeing Napoleon flushed and slightly dishevelled before him, Illya barely managed to keep a straight face.

“You need to take off shirt, Cowboy.” The change was immediate.  The corners of Napoleon’s eyes crinkled, he looked at Illya while his lips spread into a wide, toothy grin.

“I believe, that’s my line, Peril,” he replied with a wink while his fingers already went to his button.

“Is mine now,” Illya answered, eyes glued to the movements of Napoleon’s fingers.

One of them came up to lift Illya’s chin, making him look at the other man’s face; a face he had come to admire, to love.

Napoleon was still grinning when he leaned in for a kiss, stopping before their lips met.

“Then I’ll just have to steal it back,” he whispered and in that moment Illya knew that the barrier between them was gone. Their dynamic was back to normal. With only one improvement, Illya thought to himself, as he bridged the remaining distance to continue kissing Napoleon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Since these days kudos and especially comments are what I feed on, feel free to leave me some <3


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